


Deadly Weapons

by theauthorish



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 01:12:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13987254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theauthorish/pseuds/theauthorish
Summary: Kanda Yuu is a man to be feared. He has mastered a variety of weapons at only nineteen, and he is not afraid to use any of them on anyone who dares incite his ire-- and Allen in particular makes him very angry.





	1. The First Weapon

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading! I really wanted to put this up but there's one more part I need to finish up. I should have it done soon though!
> 
> P.S. I'm still pretty new at fics, so reviews would be appreciated!

His eyes are so deep a blue they're almost black-- angular and sharp to match his personality. (Allen once, in a drunken haze, confessed he thought them much like the ocean at night: enthralling, mysterious, _dangerous_. Those eyes could swallow him whole in an instant, rip him to shreds with the tides of emotion in them. They were, Allen sighed, more kinds of beautiful than they ought to be.)

They are surprisingly expressive, unable to hide the burning edges of the passion twisting beneath his skin like cords of flame-- hatred and grudging concern and duty intermingling in his veins and reflecting in his eyes. When he glares, there are more than daggers tucked within that gaze. There is a whole arsenal of blades, of bullets, of pain, and the mere narrowing of his eyes often causes strong men to crumble.

(But the worst, Allen thinks, is when they are wide, because then the sea calls to his soul; because then he sees a tenderness and vulnerability in them and goes to chase it-- only to dash himself against the jagged edges of rocks beneath the surface of the waves. The worst is when they are staring at him like they understand, like they see through all the masks he hides under, like they might even adore him; because he can never tell whether any of that is truly there, or if it's a mere reflection, moonlight bouncing off the swell of the water.)


	2. The Second Weapon

The sword glinting from his hip is more than enough of a deterrent to the few foolish enough to brave his gaze. Like the rest of the things associated with him, it has a wicked edge, and as often as it is used, it is never allowed to dull.

 _Mugen_. He breathes the name gentler than he says anything else (except for Alma's name; except for Allen's, in the privacy of their rooms, with no one but the stars and the moon and the evening wind to witness it). His fingers trace lightly over its surface, drawing out the Innocence's power. _Activate_.

Its blade arcs, glows, slices though the air... as he moves, graceful and fluid, he dodges and attacks and slowly comes to reign over the battlefield, debris and dust in his wake. His natural elegance-- sculpted, delicate features wrought of porcelain-light skin, lean muscle-corded body-- is only further highlighted by the almost balletic movements he uses to fight. (Allen thinks he almost wants to stand still and let himself be sliced open, if only to be a temporary part of the beauty that is a warzone with Kanda in it.)


	3. The Third Weapon

Kanda's mouth is not nearly so expressive. More often than not, it seems to directly contradict the truth of his feelings.

He scowls when Allen, Lenalee, and Lavi join him for their meals, but he lets them _stay_ \-- doesn't so much as get up from the table even as he complains that they ought to sit somewhere else, and didn't that mean that he actually liked their company?

He snaps, voice cracking like a whip, _Don't be such a fool, you're not a hero_ , when he means, _I don't want to see you hurt_ , his eyes impossibly soft as he stands by Allen's bedside in the hospital wing (his mouth, in a last ditch effort to hide his genuine worry, is twisted in a familiar frown). Allen smiles his thanks, a breathless laugh falling from his lips. _Thank you, Kanda_ , he says. Kanda clicks his tongue and turns away.

He says, _I hate you_ , words thick and dark as poison, but his hands paint love and tenderness and something that feels like ownership (but nothing nearly so restricting) across Allen's stomach, chest, shoulders-- spreading an antidote across every inch of skin bared to him.

 _I hate you_ , he says again, whispers it against Allen's throat, presses it like a dagger to his pulse, _I hate you so much_. His grip tightens on Allen's hips and pulls him closer regardless.

But oh, even for all the harshness of his words, even for all the sting they're designed to deliver, his lips are so _soft_. And that is exactly what makes them far deadlier than the things he says.

His lips have a way of stealing Allen's breath away, especially when they're pressed against his own. Oh god, those lips could devour him whole, and he probably wouldn't even mind. They're so strangely pliant and intoxicating and warm, so at odds with Kanda's typical brusqueness. They ghost over his body like prayer and damnation both, and he knows he needsneedsneeds them like an addict needs drugs and he shouldn't-- he shouldn't indulge in this, he doesn't _deserve_ this-- but he does, he does, _he does_.

And god, his tongue, the way it traces the inside of his mouth, the way it draws a path down his neck, the way it tugs at his earring _just so_ , then proceeds to wrap around the two syllables of his name... it is a plea and a cry and a _demand_ he can't help but succumb to. It unravels Allen, wraps him firmly around Kanda's little finger.

His teeth, when they bite just hard enough to sting but nothing more-- when they mark him as Kanda's, tell Allen Kanda is not ashamed of him any more than Kanda is ashamed of having soba every day-- it's not a big deal. It's just a fact of the world: Allen is Kanda's, and that's that. (It is a big deal though. It's the biggest deal. To someone like Allen, who has long grown into shame like it's a second skin, hiding his cursed arm and his unnatural scar and his blindingly white hair under gloves and hoods and polite smiles, it is so odd and wonderful to be so proudly _claimed_.)


	4. The Fourth Weapon

Kanda's hands are long, graceful; an artist's hands in all but use (and even that isn't certain-- Allen has a feeling Kanda is quite skilled at art, just chooses not to put that talent to use. Besides, with Froi Tiedoll as his master, it would be difficult not to have picked up something).

Those hands are smooth, unmarred by callouses or scars due to his healing ability, as if they've never worked a day in his life. This isn't the case, of course-- his hands are always moving, skin chafing on leather punching bags, scraping against cement and stone, fingers rubbing raw on the handle of his katana. There must be hundreds upon thousands of stories in the form of too-thick skin and scarred over wounds, Allen thinks-- missing, gone, erased by his healing.

He almost mourns it: the loss of those tales. What might he have learned about Kanda, had they still been there? Maybe what part of the training halls he used most often. Maybe how he tended to catch himself when he fell or when he was knocked aside by an akuma.

Maybe nothing.

Maybe everything.

Those could-have-been scars would have served as a warning sign, a threat to his enemies: _This man has survived many horrors worse than you. You will not win this fight_. But they don't exist. There are no marks, no labels-- nothing to indicate Kanda's fighting experience or his deadliness other than his stance and the smolder of his gaze.

It makes him all the more terrible, really, because with his expertise invisible to the world, he catches his foes unawares, overwhelms them before they can even recognize his skill.

He caught Allen off-guard as well; while to his enemies violence was belied by soft skin, Allen was led to believe the opposite: that Kanda was a man of ferocity and aggression, incapable of sweetness. He judged Kanda by his explosive temper, by curses spat like acid in every other sentence-- only to find kindness, a touch so light it may as well not have been there. That first night, he was so slow and careful, fingers and palms exploring every divot and ridge of Allen's body, learning the nuances of it like a preacher learned the scriptures: devout, in every sense of the word.

(In turn, Allen memorizes the way he moves, the way he looks drenched in moonlight, the way he focuses so wholeheartedly on his task, like nothing else mattered.)

It is for this reason Allen is so easily undone by Kanda, whose hands have analyzed him head to toe, have worked out how to touch to make him fall apart. In those arms he can too easily be rendered into pure emotion: want and desire at the best of times, pain and sorrow and grief at the worst. Kanda takes them all. Accepts them. Doesn't try and offer advice or make assumptions like everyone else does, and it leaves Allen so _weak_ because this is _all he needs_ and god, he'll do anything to keep it. (Kanda only wants him to be selfish once in a while. Maybe have a sense of self-preservation for once. _Stupid beansprout_.)


	5. The Fifth Weapon

Allen freezes the first time Kanda says it. He grumbles it under his breath mid-squabble, when Allen yells, _Why can't you just leave me alone?_

_Because I love you, idiot._

The response brings everything to a screeching halt, and Allen's brain goes blank but for Kanda's voice on repeat, saying it over and over and over. Terrible and non-romantic delivery aside, it's a big moment, it really is, made all the heavier by Kanda's general reluctance to so blatantly state his affections.

Allen is brought out of his stupor by a flick to his forehead.

After yelping in pain, he tries to pick up his argument again, but he can't. Not after being speared through the heart so thoroughly, so accurately. (Kanda snorts in amusement.)

Time and time again, Kanda pulls it out: it's his trump card, and no matter how he says it-- groaned into the joint of Allen's shoulder and neck, whispered low in his ear at lunch, growled in the heat of yet another fight-- it always shocks Allen speechless. It jams his system entirely, destroys his ability to complete even basic functions.

Kanda thinks its hilarious, but Allen doesn't share the sentiment. Not in the least.

It stuns him each and every single time, because he knows what he is. He's a lie-- the person known as Allen Walker isn't real; he's just a facade. He's lie upon lie upon lie, and each day he adds yet another to the list. Worse than that, he's the Fourteenth; any day now, he knows he will lose control, and in that moment, hurt someone he loves. (Maybe it will be Kanda he hurts, and the idea of that cuts him to the core).

But Kanda... his love strips Allen bare of his masks, reveals the beast beneath his manners and his cheer, and Kanda doesn't even back away. _Why won't he back away?_ No one should be burdened by Allen's past, especially someone like Kanda, who has already suffered more than he deserves in his short life.

His love obliterates Allen-- the knowledge of it making him feel heady and confused and so warm he never wants to leave its embrace and that's not okay because this kind of feeling... it belongs to other people. To normal people. To _better_ people. Not him. _Never_ him.

But then Kanda says it again, _I love you_ , and all the weight of the universe is held in those three words, and Allen is sinking again, sinking back into Kanda's hold. And then Allen is bleeding out every pretense and all his self-hatred, and just.

Just.

Lets Kanda _see_ him. Lets Kanda convince him that he is worth it.

And oh, he knows that this isn't right, that he's only prolonging the agony. He needs to stop the blood from flowing, wrap the gaping cuts and stitch them closed, cover them up with bandages. But he can't. He can't.

He wants Kanda to see that he's human, too, and if he has to suffer, has to bleed for that to happen, he will.

(This, Allen surmises, is the most terrible of Kanda's weapons. This love, this supposedly soft and gentle thing being twisted into something so hard and unforgiving: like silk ribbon tied into a noose. It is a death sentence, though a pretty one. It is also one Allen would gladly accept.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! So that's the last of it! I'm working on a ton of Linkllen rn but I was thinking about doing a parallel to this ^^^ from Kanda's point of view, about Allen's own weapons. What do you think? Let me know in the comments if you'd read it! (Ofc i might just write it anyway but idk)

**Author's Note:**

> theauthorish @tumblr


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